


he's got fire in his touch, winter in his eyes

by CaptainAmelia22



Series: Tumblr Drabble [13]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Drabble, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-07
Updated: 2014-05-07
Packaged: 2018-01-23 20:52:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1579172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainAmelia22/pseuds/CaptainAmelia22
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She tries to think it’s just a fluke, her falling for the lead singer of a hipster band who wears nothing but black leather and cigarette smoke, but somehow…</p><p>Somehow James Barnes, lead singer of / / winter soldier/ /, is anything but a fluke.</p><p>He’s a god.  </p><p>A god of synthesized melodies and sexually fueled vocals.</p>
            </blockquote>





	he's got fire in his touch, winter in his eyes

**Author's Note:**

> So I just got back from the most amazing concert of my life (Ever hear of the 1975 guys? No, well then look them up!) and naturally went into fic mode. 
> 
> I didn't get this beta'd-it's just drabble I posted on tumblr-so any mistakes are mine.
> 
> Just a warning-I'm not a poet so the lyrics are probably really horrible. But such is life. 
> 
> God, so many wonderful feels...
> 
> -M

She tries to think it’s just a fluke, her falling for the lead singer of a hipster band who wears nothing but black leather and cigarette smoke, but somehow…

Somehow James Barnes, lead singer of / /  _winter soldier/ /_ , is anything but a fluke.

He’s a god.  

A god of synthesized melodies and sexually fueled vocals.  

**

It starts pretty simply, in all honesty.

It’s Sharon who discovers the band first.  

"They kind of have this synth-80’s pop sound," she says as she leans back on Natasha’s bed and kicks her shoes off.  She smiles in Natasha’s direction and points at her computer.  "Just look them up Nat."

Natasha sighs.  ”Come on Shar,” she grumbles.  ”I don’t want to listen to anymore of Starbucks’ canned music.”  

Sharon just snorts and pulls out her phone.  ”You’ll regret that Romanoff,” she grumbles as her fingers fly across the screen.  ”Listen,” she says with finality, phone held between them and the opening chords of the most beautiful song Natasha has ever heard begins to play.

It’s poppy.

It’s synthy.

It’s sexual.

It’s pretty much perfect in every way.  

_I’m with you, with you baby, baby/  with you till the end of the line/ and that’s all you have to know/ baby…_

Sharon’s grinning as Natasha snatches the phone out of her hand and puts the song on repeat. 

"I know right?!" she says with a victorious laugh and a slight bounce against Natasha’s pillows.  "Isn’t that the best thing you’ve ever heard?"  

"Who are they?" Natasha croaks as she sags to her knees beside her bed, phone cradled reverently in her hands and her eyes glazed in shock.  

That voice…

That voice croons in her ear as a guitar wails in the background and full-body chills begin to sweep her body as the song begins to play once more. 

_You ask me where I’ll go/ but I’m with you baby/ You ask me why I don’t leave/ I’m with you/ I’m with you baby…_

Sharon leans forward to take the phone gently from Natasha and grins as she silences the song.  ”They’re called / / _winter soldier / /_  and they’re pretty much sex on guitar strings.”  

**

She listens to them obsessively, even after Sharon gets bored with them (they play them constantly now-on the radio, in the Starbucks, even in the goddamn grocery store), and for three months they’re the only band she cares about.  

She knows every song they’ve ever written, produced and performed, by heart and knows intimate details about their lives that always kind of weirds Sharon out when she spouts them during a binge listen in the car.

For example:  She knows that Sam Wilson (the drummer) is engaged to a guy in the Army named Riley.  She knows that Steve Rogers (the keyboardist and the band’s artist) was engaged to a woman named Margaret before they separated due to the band’s strenuous tour schedule (the song  _Ice in my Heart_  is about her and the lyrics  _I’ll always wait to dance with you, Peg_  always make her tear up a little bit).  She knows that the band’s manager, Nick Fury, discovered the band at a local Brooklyn bar called the Hydra and immediately got them a record deal-without even hearing their other music.   _  
_

Sharon has learned to not even mention the band, if she doesn’t want to be bombarded with information that really doesn’t matter in the end.

Casual fans, Natasha has learned, don’t really appreciate the art.  

As for the lead singer.  

Nobody knows anything about him.  

They just call him the ghost.  

Maybe it isn’t so much of a fluke, falling for him after all.  

**

Sharon gets her tickets to their show.  

Somehow.  

"But the tour is completely sold out!" Natasha rasps, her eyes locked on the two slips of paper her roommate holds out towards her triumphantly. 

It’s early in the morning-she’s only been asleep for a few hours, according to her alarm clock-but Sharon’s dressed for the day in her Starbucks uniform, blonde hair perfectly tied up in a top knot and winged eyeliner completely on point.

She waves the tickets forcefully and rolls her eyes. 

"Not if you know the right people, Nat," she says as the slips of paper are snatched from her fingers and Natasha clutches them protectively to her chest.  

"Don’t be weird about this, okay?" 

Natasha just tries to keep from screaming.  

**

The show is sold out.  

Completely sold the fuck out. 

"Jesus," Sharon breathes as they squeeze their way through the massive crowd filling the concert hall.  "I didn’t realize they were this popular."  

Natasha just grits her teeth and elbows a few people in he kidneys.  

Somehow…Somehow they get to the stage.  

Her entire body dissolves into chills-despite the hundreds of people pressing against her and Sharon’s warm presences at her back-and for the first time in the days since Sharon gave her the tickets it finally hits her.  

 _I’m here.  I’m here, seeing_ winter soldier  _live._

_Oh god._

She screams with the best of them the moment the bright stage lights die and the fog machines start.  She screams and throws herself against the metal barriers like any crazed fan the moment the opening chords of  _End of the Line_  begins to ease through the speakers flanking the stage.  

She dissolves into tears as soon as the show lights snap on and the band appears in their grungy glory mere inches from her face.  

_You hit me/ hit me like a back alley brick wall/ and somehow/ somehow I take it/ I take it for you._

The lead singer, the ghost, meets her eyes as his body curves protectively around the microphone and his too-long greasy dark hair tumbles into his eyes.  

She stops screaming. 

His eyes never leave hers…

Never.

She wishes she knew his name.

She wishes she could breathe.

She wishes…

_Fire this bullet/ fire fire fire it/ fire this bullet and watch it shatter/ shatter shatter shatter me/ how could I forget you._

Natasha stares at the lead singer and as the music grows more and more sexually charged he continues watching her.  

She’s shivering by the time they reach the second half of their set. 

She’s frozen by the time he falls to his knees before her and reaches his fingers through the bars of the barrier meant to separate them to stroke her cheek.  

_I’ll find you/ find you in the darkness of my insanity/ and somehow, somehow you continue to amaze me/ so save me/ save me from the darkness / so I can find you._

He sings to her and the feel of his fingers on her skin is like fire.  

She settles into a determined stillness the like of which she has only ever experienced once in her life.

It’s in that moment, as his fingers trail down her cheek and over her jaw, before finally leaving her skin-still burning-that she realizes she’s fallen completely for the lead singer of a hipster band.

And she doesn’t even know his name. 

**

Natasha finds the band first.  

"Come on," she hisses as she drags Sharon around the outer edges of the outer walls of the concert venue.  "I see their tour bus."  

She can smell cigarettes, pot and cheap beer from here.

Concert smell.  

The band is standing beside the bus, chatting with the members of their openers.  Every single one of them is shrouded in clouds of smoke and she can see several butts glowing from hers and Sharon’s hiding place.  

They hug the shadows, keeping as still as they can and it would be humorous, two grown women eyeballing grungy hipsters in their natural environs, if the sensation of the lead singer’s fingers wasn’t still burning through her skin.  

"Well?" Sharon asks with a slightly hysterical laugh.  "What are we doing, Nat?"

Natasha opens her mouth to reply but before she can, a gravelly voice comes from behind them.  ”Spying?  Typical groupies.”  

Every hair stands upright on her body as that voice washes over her and her teeth clench defensively as she spins on her heel and aims a punch at the speaker’s face. 

He deflects it perfectly and grins down at her.  

"Nice moves," he says as his fingers catch her wrist and he pulls her close, close into the orange light of a security lamp hanging overhead.

He starts to say something else but then his eyes settle on her face and stunned recognition replaces the irritation in his eyes.

"Shit," he breathes and she begins to shiver as his touch once more sets her body on fire.  " _You.”_

She doesn’t know what to say to that.  

Just…

"Who are you?"

**

The band calls him Bucky.

She’s the only one allowed to call him James.  

He calls her Natalia.  (And yes, the song  _She Moves Like Death_  is about her.)  

He and Steve grew up together in Brooklyn and joined the Army together.  They served for four years and were discharged after a train job that left him with a barely functioning left arm and a bad case of amnesia and Steve with enough guilt to keep him in therapy for the next ten years.  

He loves pancake houses (every tour involves at least one stop at a Waffle House-although, she’s kind of helped stopped that tradition, much to the other guys’ approval) and he can speak four languages.

Russian included.  

She knows more about him than anyone else in the world.

And that suits her just fine.  

"Are you going to blackmail me, Natalia?" he mutters as he trails firey kisses down her body and smooths his hands over her hips.  

"Maybe," she whispers back as she curves her body into his, providing the perfect imagery for yet another synthesized single.  "Isn’t that what groupies are for?"

"You’re not a groupie," he growls, his teeth sharp on her neck and his fingers like poetry on her thighs.  "You’ve never been a groupie, Natalia." 

She laughs at that and smooths her fingers through his too-long hair.  

"Oh?  And just what the fuck am I, James?" she asks, green eyes sparkling as his dark eyes rise to meet hers and his lips flash in a predatory grin in her direction.  

"Amazing, Natalia," he growls, fingers burning like fire between her thighs and his eyes a heated promise in the shadows of their hotel room. "You’re amazing."  

"Turn that into a song, and I’ll punch you James," she says, mock irritation in her voice.  

He just smirks at her and lowers his lips to her breasts.  

As she arches into his touch, she thinks it’s maybe fate, that she’s fallen for the lead singer of a hipster band.  

A weird twist of fate.  

And she doesn’t feel too bad about it at all.  

**

_She’s amazing, the widow of my heart/ with her eyes as green as em’ralds/ she’s amazing, the widow of my heart/ with her fists like daggers/ and I crave her/ fuck, I crave her/ like honey and wine and gun powd’r/ I crave her/ the widow of my heart…_


End file.
